


His Guardians

by PipMer



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221B Ficlet, Character Study, Drabble, Gen, Inspired by Art
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-11 22:32:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/803986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PipMer/pseuds/PipMer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They worry about him.  Constantly.<br/> </p><p>Inspired by this work of art:  <a href="http://marielikestodraw.tumblr.com/image/6810216142">here</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	His Guardians

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [......Constantly](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/21635) by marielikestodraw. 



> This is a set of three 221b ficlets, adding up to a 663b. It's an homage to the three men who constantly watch over and worry about Sherlock. It was inspired by this work of art: [here](http://marielikestodraw.tumblr.com/image/6810216142) that I stumbled across more than a year ago, by marielikestodraw. It's really quite lovely.

 

 

 

 

 

He is **constantly** on his guard around the man, it seems.  He’s known him almost five years, and yet he doesn’t really _know_ him.  That’s not all on him, either.   The aloof detective doesn’t let anybody get close to him, as far as he can tell.  He lets people come just so far, and no further.  It makes it that much more difficult to do the task he set for himself after he had dragged the semi-conscious genius (idiot) to A&E after a heroin overdose.  There was no way the newly-minted inspector was going to let such a valuable asset slip through his fingers in such an inauspicious manner.  He would not let that razor-sharp mind destroy itself if it were the last thing he ever did.  He had sworn it to himself, and he had sworn it to the unsmiling government official who had shown up at the boy’s bedside.

 

Now here they are, four years after that harrowing incident.  He watches as the lanky git dances around the crime scene, lighting up the alleyway with the glow of his rapid-fire deductions.    That’s all he _can_ do, really.  Watch, observe, and be ready to swoop in at a moment’s notice to rectify and mitigate any missteps taken either purposely or in an oblivious haze.  Chastising, correcting, micro-managing.

 

His nominal boss.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

He worries about him, **constantly.** He started when the pink wrinkled bundle was brought home from the hospital, and he hasn’t stopped since.  He doesn’t think he ever will.

 

He sighs, keeping one eye on the CCTV footage trained on the entrance to the Montague Street flat while he peruses the Home Secretary‘s report.  He wishes that he could have found a nicer location but background checks are done on the resident as well as the co-signer, and this is the best option available.  At least the neighbourhood isn’t infested with dealers and vagrants like the last one.   He’s grateful for small mercies.

 

It’s a tiring job, more draining than his high-pressure, high-level position (don’t let anyone fool you into believing that position is a _minor_ one.)  Some days he spends more time on his avocation than on his actual career.  Now that he has the Inspector on board, he can breathe a little easier, but only just.  He can’t afford to relax his guard much because as soon as he does, that will be the time his charge relapses, or is too careless while pursuing a criminal, or decides to blow himself up in an experiment.

 

He takes his familial responsibilities very seriously, after all.  He’ll always be there to keep him safe.

 

His only brother, and more besides.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The soldier in him tenses up, prepared to protect and defend his friend from anyone who dares to come after him.  The doctor in him flicks his eyes over the man’s tall frame, checking for any signs of injury or abrasion.  The detective shakes his head as he lifts a finger to his lips in the universal signal for _quiet._ He nods in understanding and reaches behind his back to pull a gun from his waistband.

 

He knows that his partner has other people looking out for him, people who have known him for far longer than he has.  Mycroft, for one.  A man who has known him for literally his whole life.  The person who should arguably know him better than anyone else.  And perhaps he does, in some ways.  But even Mycroft has blind spots, especially when his tendency is to watch only from a distance.

 

Lestrade is another who knows him fairly well, and who keeps an eye on him whenever he can spare one.  Greg has worked with him longer, and has seen him at his worst.  But the doctor _lives_ with him and can keep _both_ eyes on him, a **constant** presence…. and _he_ has seen him at his _best_.

 

John Watson grins as he races after Sherlock Holmes.

 

So much more than his mere blogger.


End file.
